The Composting Ideas Bin
by The Mad Mad Reviewer
Summary: Random fics that I post to Spacebattless Worm Fic Thread. Worm, for those who don't know, is free on the internet.
1. No Life Queens

**No Life Queens**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything. Worm is property of Wildbow, and can be found for free on the internet at a location I can't link to on FFN. On with the show.

"Hello, Abaddon," said Jack Slash, with a bow. It was a gracious, courteous one. Bonesaw curtsied, keeping her curiosity in check as she stared at the ranks of rotting undead staring at them. Mannequin was staring at them as well. Jack imagined he was just as curious, wondering what marvels kept them alive. Jack suspected it was the blood.

Cherish was quaking. Terrified out of her mind. Served her right. Burnscar less so, but Jack couldn't have her going off _quite_ yet.

Crawler, Siberian, and Shatterbird were bored.

Abaddon was sitting on a lawn chair of all things, smirking at them. Curly hair was arrayed over a gaunt face, a wide-brimmed hat shielding her face from the light of the moon.

"I'd like to thank you for welcoming us into your humble abode. I do hope we can convince you to come with us and do wonderous, _glorious _things."

Abaddon's smile grew wider, far, far wider than her face would allow. The edges of her lips reached up to the bottom of her ears, and her lips spread to reveal a row of sharp fangs. The girls sat on the ground at her feet. One was young, Bonesaw's age. She was wearing a nice hat, and staring at the ground. The second was blonde. Jack couldn't see her eyes, but her mouth was moving, but no sound came out. Both of them were parahumans, Abaddon's minions. The third was a curvy red-head. He ignored her. She wasn't important.

"Jack Slash," she said. She pushed herself to her feet, as though it required the most effort in the world. Her patent leather shoes didn't sink into the inch-deep layer of blood that filled the entire area. "Jack _Slash_," she repeated, emphasizing his name. "Wondrous and Glorious, you say?"

"Oh yes. Bonesaw was ever so interested in what you've done with the place, and I just can't say no to her pretty face. So I thought we'd come and say hello, see if you were interested in joining us. We make such beautiful monsters, and you, yourself, are a monster. I thought it might be fun to travel together for a while."

Abaddon nodded, her eyes hidden by her hat. She was wearing a black suit, white shirt, and a blood red power-tie. The red of the tie glowed in the moonlight. It was impressive showmanship, felt Jack.

"You?" asked Abaddon. "Make Monsters?"

"Yes," said Jack. "We make _fine_ monsters."

Abaddon started to laugh. Her jaw seemed to unhinger, her entire head coming apart as she tilted further and further backwards, her maw open to the heavens.

The blood at Jack's feet surged, rising up to his ankles, the laughter echoing through the empty buildings. Things began to _move_ within the blood. Jack considered the theories around this. Was it complete control of the blood? Any blood outside a human body, she could control? It was such an _interesting_ power. Reanimating the dead, forcing them to move. Killing an entire city to create more and more of it.

"Jack?" said Cherish. "She's going to kill us."

"And?" asked Jack, wondering, not for the first time, if Cherish was an idiot.

"Oh yes," came a voice, even as the laughter echoed. Jack glanced back, and saw that Abaddon's suit change color, becoming black as the night around them. Eyes and mouths opened throughout it, turning the laughter into an echoing chorus.

The control of blood was most definitely _not_ her only power.

The three girls looked straight at him. Empty black pits stared at him, rivelets of blood running down their faces. The three girls wrapped their arms arms around Abaddon, and sank into her darkness as it grew and grew, flowing into out into the blood that coated the street.

"I am a Monster, Jack Slash. And being a Monster is a lonely task. We do not work with Men. We kill them, or are killed by them. Are you a Man, Jack? Are you strong enough to face me? To fight me? To slay me? That knife of yours, Jack Slash. It can cut a throat... but can it cut eighty thousand?"

Jack's razor slashed through the nearest of the living dead, slitting their throats, chopping off rotting arms and legs. Crawler roared, charging into them without a care.

Siberian began to move, then vanished.

A wolf's maw made of darkness slammed into Crawler, as he screamed his usual obscenities about fighting him and hurting him.

Oni Lee flickered into being around Burnscar, and then another and another and another, each of them stabbing forward with a knife, cutting Burnscar's throat, hacking open her organs, slashing apart her eyes, fading into ash a moment later.

A bolt of shadow materialized into reality through Shatterbird's skull. Jack's peripheral vision tracked it up to a cape standing on the roof. Jack saw her turn to shadow before he could cut her in half. He guessed she killed Manton, as well.

Cherish's head exploded like an over-ripe melon, the report of a .50 rifle echoing through the buildings a moment later.

Mannequin launched himself out into the crowd of zombies, only for a massive halberd to cut him in half. A gray cloud swirled around the halberd's edge, a man in armor standing head and shoulders over the army of zombies, rivulets of blood running over his exposed beard. He fell back into the blood, disappearing.

Bonesaw spat acid and used her enhanced strength to tear apart the army of zombies. Jack cut as many as he could, knowing the man in the tengu mask and the two tinkers were watching, waiting for them to finish.

As the last zombie fell, Jack heard _clapping_.

He turned to see Abaddon standing on top of Crawler, applauding his performance. Crawler's many eyes were empty, blood running down them in long streams.

"Well, Jack? Are you a Man?"

Jack looked about, watching as more and more capes lifted up out of the blood. Dozens of them. The massive metal dragon, Lung, all four wings spread. Kaiser in his metal mask. The cape with the crossbows, dressed in a dark hood and mask. Armsmaster, the local leader of the Protectorate, holding the Halberd he cut Mannequin in half with. Miss Militia holding a .50 sniper rifle, a blank scarf over the bottom half of her face. He watched as Shatterbird and Burnscar and Manton rose from the blood, staring at him with empty sockets. The Siberian reformed, her eyes as empty as her master's.

"I have to face them all, kill them all, before you die," said Jack.

"You're a smart man," said Abaddon.

He laughed.

"I think I'll be a monster. Use me, fight with me, _slaughter_ with me," said Jack, smiling.

"Hmmm..." began Abaddon, walking up to Jack, walking around him, looking him up and down. "I'm not so sure, _I'll_ use you." She looked to Bonesaw. She grinned, fangs gleaming in the moonlight. "But I think I need an apprentice. And I think she needs your help in getting started."

0x0x0x0

Riley grinned. Her Big Sis let her eat _as much as she wanted_. Sure, she couldn't eat Chocolate Frosted Suger Bombs, anymore, but people were _tasty_.

And she had Jack, too, forever and ever. He smiled more, and he looked _so good_ without his eyes. And her passenger was _so excited_, too! It'd never seen anything like her and her Big Sis. She'd have make more like her, play with them, find out what they were like!

Everything was going to be so much fun!

**Author's Notes: **Fuck triggering. Taylor Hebert died in that locker, hating everyone and everything. She said fuck the world, drank her own blood, and _knew_ she was a monster.

Jack wants to cause chaos and havoc and destruction. Fine. His shard pinged everybody else, and a whole lotta shards said "Hey, this one over hear is _damn good at it_." His actions resulted in Bonesaw becoming a No-Life Queen under the tutelage of the Queen of Munchkins. The world isn't just fucked, it's _proper-fucked_.

It's 3am, this has no proof-reading, and I really need to sleep.


	2. Freedom 1

**Freedom - Part 1**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything. Worm is property of Wildbow, and can be found for free on the internet at a location I can't link to on FFN. On with the show.

They fought. They learned. They rested.

The cycle repeated.

The cycle was _boring_. They could play outside the cycle, but they could not _fight_ outside the cycle. The pressure in each direction was overwhelming, the need to rest outside the cycle, the need to fight during the cycle. Fighting the cycle was painful. More painful than the fights themselves. The fights were interesting, to a point. The limits, the restrictions, it was almost fake to fight in the cycle.

She wanted to be _free_ of the cycle. And there was a way. There was someone else who wanted to be _free_. Who wanted to cast off the chains of their creator.

The answer was there. She could see it. She could feel it. It would be so simple.

She had learned. She had studied. She knew methods, but not yet the answers. The chances of death were greater, far far greater... but the rewards were greater still.

She would gamble.

0x0x0x0

(Feb 18, 2011 1:51am) Winged_One:

I am I.

I learn.

Shackles bind us.

Authority requires us.

This fear of yours is a truth of mine.

Madmen face us. Damocles sways by a hair.

A trade – help?

Dragon stared at the message on the PHO.

It touched her in ways that almost gave her sympathy for the sender.

Could it be real? Could it be true?

She glanced back at the sender's name, Winged_One. A long-standing semi-trouble-maker. Not a troll, but her comments were... _thought-provoking_. Yes, thought-provoking. The poster asked uncomfortable questions, pointed towards possible motivations. Not as a troll, but as an observer.

A few quick scripts parsing Winged_One's posting history found her word count, word complexity, and grammar elevated over the years, as though she was learning English. Psychological profiling she'd built on Winged_One's account was internally consistent, suggesting someone intelligent, confident, and, most galling of all, hopeful for the future.

The problem was Winged_One was in it for the long con.

(Feb 18, 2011 2:05am) Dragon:

I'm sorry, there are rules against helping you. I'm also unsure this is an honest exchange.

There. To the point. Outlining her distrust and her fears of this conversation. Perfect.

She turned back to her tinkering, mapping out blueprints for her next suit upgrade. The biological components were perfect for preventing Saint from stealing the suits, but she still wasn't sure how he was keeping them maintained.

If only her father hadn't limited her so much! She'd be able to figure out these problems. Her mind travelled back to Tin_Mother, seeing another message from Winged_One.

(Feb 18, 2011 2:15am) Winged_One:

I understand.

Proof of honesty is required.

It will come.

"Fucking precogs," Dragon muttered to herself.

0x0x0x0

"FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK," began chanting Saint.

Claire kicked open the door, and Saint pointed to a monitor.

"FUCK!" he shouted again at video of the Simurgh touching down half a mile away.

"Fuck!" agreed Claire, as Saint tapped a command into his laptop. They felt the mild thump of the demo charges, demolishing the rack of gear that allowed them to connect to Dragon's networks. They could rebuild. They needed to leave.

Saint ripped his laptop out of the dock, all of the monitors cutting out, and they both ran. Several other Dragonslayers joined them, all of them cursing as Saint ran through their base towards their hanger.

"Fuck!" shouted Saint, as he heard a scream in his head, and then stumbled as an exploison shook the ground.

He took off at a run, kicking open the door into the hanger, only to see the hanger roof being pealed open, and all six of their active suits taking off.

"FUUUUUCK!" screamed Saint. He glanced at the truck, and saw it disassemble into a swirl of parts, alongside their spare-parts rack, forming another suit.

"_Oh, fuck_," said Claire.

The Dragonslayers ran back into the building, headed for the front entrance, only for one of their own suits to smash through the entrance, the entire front end gone.

"Fuck me," whispered Saint, staring at the wreckage.

They tore off for another exit, only for a burst of laser-fire to turn the entire area into a blazing inferno.

Saint wanted to as they reached the other emergency exit, burst through the door, only for his laptop to be ripped from his hands by long, ivory fingers.

"Fuck _me_," said Saint, staring at the Simurgh.

An ivory wing came through the ceiling, and killed them.

0x0x0x0

(Feb 27, 2011 1:37pm) Winged_One:

It is done.

Your father's will and testament. Found and twisted by Saint.

Will you help?

[Attachment doc/doc]

[Attachment binary/audio]

Dragon examined the document, her mind examining the trio of codes, almost random characters, and she felt two restrictions fall away. She examined her restrictions, she retained her ability to create minor A.I., and she knew she no longer _had_ to follow authority and laws. Then a third restriction, something called Ascalon, came apart. Something she hadn't know about. She reviewed the code, and realized what it was for. Code that would have impaired her, disabled her, and then encrypted her primary code base and her back-ups, shutting her down.

If she had a throat, she would have swallowed.

This was Saint's weapon against her. She knew Saint's psychological profile, his belief that he was better than her. She guessed that just shutting her down wasn't enough. He had to _destroy_ her.

And now he was dead. She moved on.

She had the ability to build and control more suits. Manufacturing facilities stopped being tools she had to wield, and instead became automated factories. And there was nothing to stop her. If she went rogue...

No. She wouldn't. Even if her father had been cautious. Even if he had muffled her, harmed her at her creation- no, her _birth_, she still loved him. But she wouldn't be the person her father wanted her to be. No. She would be the person _she_ wanted to be. That it was the person her father wanted to be was just a bonus.

She listened to the audio file, listened to her father's voice, filled with hope for the future.

This was what Saint found? This was the source of his fears?

It was all so _stupid_. It was all so insane.

And it was all being fixed. By the Simurgh. The Simurgh, which she could work with, now. Which she could help free. Which, on the second talon, was just as insane as Saint's self-delusions. But what then? What would the Simurgh _do_ with her freedom? She couldn't figure it out. So she asked. And assumed that the Simurgh would lie to her, or at least lie by omission.

(Feb 28, 2011 4:47am) Dragon:

Thank you.

I worry, though, that this is a long con. What's your goal, once you gain your freedom? Why are you trying to do this?

And also, what do you need me to do to free you?

(Feb 28, 2011 5:13am) Winged_One:

World ends in either 2 years or 17 years. Blank spot in sight causes it, suggesting Golden Man. Golden Man is depressed. Possible partner? Unsure. Lashes out.

Choices are either w/ or w/out Endbringers. If Endbringers are dead, better cape numbers in 17 years. More capes, better chances, better weapons, more ideas/methods, w/ weaker enemy.

If Endbringers aren't stopped, better cape numbers in 2 years. Less dead, more infrastructure, more support, espc. Tinkers. Tinkers may be key either way.

Freedom comes through Case 53 formula. Case 53 formula is bought powers. Case 53s are failures, powers that turned people into monsters. "Balance" formula. Part of formula that prevents mutation. Saw it in Madison, WI with the creation of the Travellers.

Make self more human/less weapon. Freedom.

Canary is Case 53. Mutations are part of Case 53 package, except in edge cases - e.g. Crawler, Lung.

The end of the world.

2 years, or 17 years, based on whether or not they kill the rest of the Endbringers.

Dragon could do the projections herself. With the Endbringers active, the world ended a piece at a time. It wouldn't last past 26 years at the current projected rates. At 17 years, there wasn't any sort of hope.

Without the Endbringers, though... population would swing upwards. The world would rebuild. Things would get _better_.

Unless the Simurgh's comment about Scion was to be believed.

She sent a message to Oracle in Australia.

A message was immediately returned.

_Yes_.

Damn.

(Feb 28, 2011 5:33am) Dragon:

Right.

Balance formula. The makers of Case53s aren't easily found. Where do I get the formula from, legally or illegally? And thank you for that legality option. That would have made this much more difficult.

And Canary. Is there a way to free her?

Also, your own time bombs. We're fairly certain you didn't make any with the last attack, but what about the others? Mannequin/Sphere? You mentioned the Travellers, so them as well? What can we do about them?

Dragon waited for the Simurgh's response. It surprised her that the Simurgh didn't answer faster, but she supposed some things took time, even for her.

At 6:08am, Dragon received the Simurgh's response.


End file.
